


Vienna

by Vee



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee/pseuds/Vee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything to Midorima was a slight, and a personal one, if trust predated the problem. When Akashi didn’t really speak, didn’t really blink, it was seen as an act of war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vienna

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a response to a general not-quite-prompt I saw in the AkaMido tag; basically, what if Akashi were the one angsting over Midorima for once, instead of the other way around?
> 
> When I finished writing this my only reaction was "wow, I'm a c***." Which pretty much sums it up.
> 
> The title is from the eponymous song by Ultravox, one of my auxiliary AkaMido themes and a really, really feelsy little tune.

The first day, he acted like it hadn’t affected him because he didn’t _feel_ like it affected him, because he was busy playing deep in the dark sandbox that fooled him into that sort of behavior. So that was the first problem. Everything to Midorima was a slight, and a personal one, if trust predated the problem. When Akashi didn’t really speak, didn’t really blink, it was seen as an act of war. No, Akashi just listened to the litany of grievances and read them as bullet points on a long-overdue letter of resignation.

As if human relationships were ever that easy.

Akashi couldn’t pick apart nor would he even entertain knowing those feelings; not while he was cultivating that mindset. “Very well,” he said, and watched Midorima’s face harden and start to crack with shock and devastation as he went on. “This isn’t mutually beneficial and I understand. I’m sorry I’ve been a burden to bear. All we need to do is focus on doing what we have to do.”

Akashi turned away before Midorima even knew what to say (he was stunned, he was confused, he was _angry_ because it seemed so easy, so effortless to literally _walk away…_ ) and said only, “I’ll see you on the court.”

(So was Akashi)

It was so easy. He was still getting used to swallowing things in order for the more uneasy logic to prevail, and it had been far easier to turn away than to look at Midorima, whose raw emotion was sometimes overwhelming, the way he wore fear and jealousy and anger on his face absolutely beautifully. Akashi used to say he could see when he was upset, so Midorima tried to perfect a poker face. It never worked. It was still in his eyes, all over his body language. The thing about Midorima was, he was naturally at some height of feeling, all the time. Everything consumed him. Rivals could read it, and responded to it like cornered dogs. Akashi envied that, and told him tenderly not to hide like that. Not to hide the way he was hiding, learning to hide, forcing himself to hide like binding and training his instincts…

So it felt like sickness, to consume it instead. To sit there in a silent bedroom and wonder at the infinity of numbness, at how easy it really was to turn away, to disregard a consequence he did not _have_ to acknowledge.

A basketball flew at him from across the court; he had to catch it, to react, to do something about it, because that protected him. That was fighting, that was winning, that was the culture of destruction as he maintained a dynasty in his name. But if a word came at him with the same speed ( _“Bastard.”),_ if a question were asked at point blank range ( _“What do you expect me to say?”_ ), if an accusation was ever implicit only through a pair of emerald green eyes _(You’ve changed into someone different_ ) _,_ he didn’t have to react at all. Unmet, projected animosity was like light, speeding forever into the darkness until something caught it, gave it a surface to reflect off of.

The simple task was refusing to be that surface, refusing to pander anymore.

It had been so much easier to ask other people to behave that way. Stoicism was easy to demand of others.

He realized he was still holding his school bag. His fingers were painfully stiff by the time he unclenched the fist he made around the strap and let it thump to the floor.  

~*~

The third week, and he was getting sick of the residual grief, the moments of regret, the _lust_. What a bothersome, distracting thing to feel. They used to kiss behind the gym. They used to send silent cues during clean-up duty and be nervous bundles of energy by the time they met in the evening. Akashi’s parents suspected nothing; Midorima’s parents didn’t care. Once, they made out on Midorima’s bed, while his parents were home, while his mom made dinner and his dad tended to the garden. Akashi grabbed a hand and put it under his shirt, made Midorima feel out his heartbeat and breathed into an obvious moan when fingernails pinched together on a nipple.

Akashi bit hard on his knuckle and Midorima’s teeth latched on in the same spot, while their legs started to wind together and something in Akashi’s mind told him that things would go so much farther if it weren’t up to reason. Midorima had always been that way, though, animalistic given the opportunity.

A knock came on the door just as Akashi had his fingers down Midorima’s pants, and they both jumped back into innocent positions so quickly, they both felt light-headed from the shock.

At least it was summer now. At least they were going to different schools. At least Akashi didn’t have to see him every day, and watch him getting taller and sturdier, watch his fingers getting even more elegant, watch him and examine him and wonder how far they might have gone that day, wonder where else Midorima’s mouth might have wandered if they hadn’t been interrupted.

Lots of things could be ended, and lots of things would surely come to an end, if people would only obey the laws of _reason_.

He swore at the thought of it as it invaded the lovely and increasingly dark sexual rollercoaster he’d been thinking through, scowled and bared his teeth as it suffocated the euphoria of his orgasm. He just watched the water circle the drain of the shower, watched his come slide into it and disappear just as easily. He needed to stop doing this. He needed to stop being so sloppy.

 _Stop doing it_ , he ordered himself calmly. _Just stop thinking about him._

Very few things felt legitimately good anymore, but even masturbation had been less enjoyable as of late. It was another thing he wouldn’t miss, or would at least convince himself he didn’t.

~*~

Six months, and he was like a sculpture of his own design. Rendered in beautiful, perfect layers of stone, just exquisite implacability. Unquestioned. Absolute. The alien perspective of flawless control was still exotic, to the limits he’d pushed it. He liked his perch, he valued his pedestal. And then Akashi met Takao.

They said few words (because Akashi said few words to most, at that point; especially enemies), but a new perspective meant new windows he hadn’t been counting on. Suddenly he knew something he never wanted to know, and it was simply because of how intimately he’d known Midorima.

He didn’t hate him. He didn’t envy him. He didn’t feel much that went beyond a tangle of emotions that didn’t make sense anymore, without the necessary distance to interpret them. And it wasn’t so much the fact that Midorima was fucking Takao; that didn’t even register as a specific issue. Takao could have been any face and any name, but the simple truth was, Midorima still existed in ways Akashi hadn’t counted on, just behind the window of another person’s eyes.

Akashi had expected a match on the basketball court, and not a tense re-evaluation in the locker room, after he had time to decompress and time to focus on something else, time to focus on the fact that Midorima was fucking anyone at all.

It was obvious in a way that nearly made him laugh, he realized as he dug through the meanings he’d extrapolated. Nothing was on hold. Nothing was guaranteed. And he’d been trying for six months to stop thinking about that face, about the hand that used to rest over his heart and the Midorima who used to breathe in and out slowly until they both forgot about anything else they were thinking of, worrying about, being distracted by. “Hey,” he’d say, uncharacteristically charming once they’d calmed completely. After a strenuous practice, after a stupid argument. “Now our heartbeats match.”

_The thing about reason is…_

The other freshmen in the basketball club called him senpai sometimes. “Akashi-senpai, I want to be like you,” one said to him.

Akashi searched his face and found it hopeful, full of emotion. “You can’t be like me,” he said simply, and turned away like he always did.

 


End file.
